


don't go to bed unless you go with me

by VenusMonstrosa



Series: i can only do right by you [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Farmer Steve Rogers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusMonstrosa/pseuds/VenusMonstrosa
Summary: A tall, well-built man appears from behind the barn, wiping his muddy hands on a muddier rag and squinting against the sunlight. His blond hair sticks to his forehead and there’s dirt smudged on his cheek. He looks a little rough, a little filthy, and all the way beautiful.





	don't go to bed unless you go with me

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this pic](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fe/00/9d/fe009d71c2f46de979e05e92c810584d--sebastian-stan-bucky.jpg) years ago, and here we are now. And what with Black Panther's end credits scene... Well. My Stucky heart just couldn't contain itself.
> 
> Title taken from "Me Like Yuh" by Jay Park. (It has nothing to do with the fic. I just love Jay Park.)
> 
> UPDATE: Edited on 15/01/19 and beta'd by 743ish!

 

It’s a warm day. The damp spring thaw quickly gave way to summer, bringing back the muggy humidity of the city. It’s well before noon, yet the sun is already bright in the cloudless, blue sky, so Bucky has the top down as he drives north. His blazer is thrown over the passenger seat and his sleeves are neatly folded up to his elbows. His shirt will crease, but it’s the least of his concerns. Through his sunglasses, he sees the Manhattan skyline shrink in his rear view mirror, eventually disappearing altogether.

This far out of the city, the air feels clearer, smells fresher. If he ignores the cow pies.

A couple hours and a pit stop later, he ends up on a dirt road, then a gravel road. They lead him into a green expanse of land, stretching out for miles in all directions. There are sprawling fields around him, a lone painted-yellow farmhouse a ways away, and a barn just ahead. The doors are wide open. Slowing to a stop, Bucky parks his car, honks twice, and quickly sorts himself out.

His hair had ruffled in the breeze, so he tucks the wayward strands behind his ears as best he can. He considers his two-day stubble and wonders if he should have shaved his face. His breath smells of coffee and a grape lollipop he bought at the gas station miles back. It’ll have to do. He shoves his sunglasses into his glove compartment and grabs his jacket and briefcase as he gets out of his car.

A tall, well-built man appears from behind the barn, wiping his muddy hands on a muddier rag and squinting against the sunlight. His blond hair sticks to his forehead and there’s dirt smudged on his cheek. He looks a little rough, a little filthy, and all the way beautiful.

Bucky stands up a little taller. “Hi. Good morning,” he adds after a brief pause.

“Hey.” The man walks closer, tucks the rag into the back pocket of his ripped, worn jeans, and wipes at his neck with the fabric of his thin white undershirt. Bucky doesn’t miss the sheen of sweat on his muscled arms, exposed and tanned from the sun.

“Tried calling, but the reception is awful. I’m here on business,” Bucky continues, motioning to his briefcase for emphasis.

“That so?” the man asks, giving Bucky a thorough once-over.

He tries not to squirm. “Are you busy right now?”

The man gives a half shrug with his broad, hulking shoulders. “Do you want some lemonade?”

Bucky would, but. “I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Ah.” He folds his impressive arms over his more impressive chest, amused. “Guess we shouldn’t waste time, then. Lemme wash up.” He heads back behind the barn again, presumably to a water spigot.

Bucky heads into the barn.

Sunlight streams in through the windows above. Two horses in the stables regard him warily as he passes them. The wooden floor creaks under his Italian leather shoes. He steps away from a chicken that comes too close for his liking, and it clucks indignantly at him before turning away and heading elsewhere.

A sudden warmth presses up against his back, and slightly damp, heavy hands encircle his hips. “Oh, uh—” Bucky finds himself saying, as one of those hands gently takes his briefcase and jacket from his grasp and places them on a nearby bench. “Careful with those.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Despite the sarcasm, the deep voice in his ear makes him shiver.

Lips attach to the soft skin just behind Bucky’s ear, trailing down his jaw. “Fuck off,” he says breathily. “Don’t call me that, Steve.”

“Bucky,” Steve corrects himself just as quietly, following it with a gentle bite of his earlobe. “Sweetheart.”

Bucky rocks backwards as Steve’s hands roam over his body, one making its way up his stomach and chest, the other settling maddeningly close to his groin. Steve wraps sturdy fingers around his throat, and the pressure makes Bucky groan under his breath.

“What’d you come here for, hmm?” Steve murmurs, grinding against him.

In lieu of an answer, Bucky starts undoing his belt.

As soon as Steve is able to slip a calloused hand inside, he reaches for Bucky’s cock and strokes it quickly, almost roughly. Bucky clings to his arms, relishing the feeling of taut muscle under his fingers. 

“Go easy on me, Rogers,” he complains, lolling his head back onto Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky turns his head enough so that their noses touch, and their lips follow. Steve kisses him the same way he holds him, steadily and with purpose. He tastes warm, earthy, familiar.

Bucky’s cock leaks over Steve’s fingers.

“Up against the wall?” he suggests in a low voice, and Bucky can hear the smirk in his tone. “Nearly broke the door down last time, I was fucking you so hard. Remember that?”

Helpless to do much else but nod, Bucky moans when Steve pulls his length out of his pants, exposing the wet, flushed head to the open air of the barn.

“Or maybe in the grass outside, on your hands and knees again. When was that, last fall? I’ve never heard you beg so sweetly in my life, Buck.”

“Stevie,” he whines.

“Yeah, it was just like that,” Steve huffs a laugh, biting into Bucky’s shoulder. “But the time you sat me in your car, rode me in the backseat, and came all over my chest? God, I was touching myself thinking of that for  _ weeks.” _

The memory makes Bucky blush, picturing the stripes across Steve’s strong chest that he licked off afterward.

“Give me something new to get off to,” he growls, freeing himself of Steve’s grasp and turning to face him. Bucky surges up for another kiss, fierce and bruising, at the same time making quick work of undoing his tie and shirt buttons. Steve breaks away long enough to pull his own tank top over his head and toss it aside.

“Never gets old,” Bucky murmurs appreciatively, biting his lip and raking his eyes over the expanse of muscle before him. It’s Steve’s turn to blush, all the way up to the roots of his hair.

They both reach for Steve’s belt buckle, breathless and eagerly jostling each other as their hands get in each other’s way. It ends up taking twice as long, but once he unzips, Bucky sinks to his knees. 

“Thank fuck,” he says, almost reverently, finally getting his hands on Steve.

Bucky presses a teasing kiss to the tip of his erection, standing thick and heavy. Steve makes a soft noise that Bucky encourages with an open-mouthed lick at the slit, where precome starts to pool. In the harsh daylight, he almost feels shy about nuzzling his face into the base of Steve’s dick, on his knees in an expensive suit, on the dirt floor of a fucking barn.

Almost.

Steve gets his hands in Bucky’s hair, using the firm grip to guide Bucky’s tongue along a particularly prominent vein on the underside of his length. Bucky gladly takes it, letting himself be used and drinking in Steve’s low moans above him. The heady smell of musk and sweat nearly makes Bucky consider finishing him off this way, but he’s got plans and a schedule to keep.

He’s here on business, after all.

Bucky glances up, locks eyes with Steve, and swallows him halfway down. After the briefest moment to brace himself, he relaxes his mouth and takes him all the way to the root. The moan that gets punched out of Steve is worth the cost of the dry cleaning bill alone.

Bucky finds a comfortable pace, one hand working the shaft, the other rolling Steve’s balls gently, making Steve’s fists tighten up in his hair. Bucky shuts his eyes when they start to water, feeling saliva drip down his chin as he opens wide to let Steve fuck his face. His jaw is on fire with the tension of trying to accommodate his girth and his throat seizes up every time Steve’s cock reaches far enough back. Steve’s not so mouthy now, not when he’s focused on the pouty lips stretched around him.

“Almost,” Steve rasps in warning.

Bucky suddenly pulls off, looking him in the eyes again, as if challenging him. Steve groans and sets his jaw, frustration clear in the way he furrows his brow.

“Fuck me,” Bucky spits. A challenge.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Steve hauls him to his feet, lifts him up and deposits him hard on his back, onto a wooden table behind him. A rough, itchy blanket has been laid over it, and Bucky can’t even begin to imagine how scratched up he’ll be by the end of this, but Steve will tell him he deserved it.

When he lets Steve fuck him at his own pace, it’s full of caresses, pleading, praise. They babble sweet nonsense and laugh into each other’s mouths when they kiss, and it unravels him enough that he drives back to the city loose-limbed and quiet. But when he gets Steve infuriatingly close to the edge and then demands to be fucked, well.

Bucky knows to book full-body massages the day after he visits the Rogers’ farm.

“Jacket pocket,” he says, lying back to shimmy out of his pants while Steve grabs the sachets of lube Bucky had brought with him. He only gets the pants past his knees when Steve looms above him again, grabbing him by the calves and pushing his legs up towards his chest.

“What—” He’s cut off by thumbs spreading him open and a wet, warm tongue lapping at his entrance. Bucky swears, loudly, which only seems to spur Steve on. “Gross, Stevie, I was sittin’ in a hot car for two and a half hours—”

“Before you got here,” Steve says gruffly between determined licks, “I was literally wrestling with a pig. And you were choking on my cock like you needed it more than air, all the same.”

“Would be a hell of a way to go.” Bucky props himself up on his elbows and barks out a laugh, which turns into a moan when a slippery finger enters him. “More.”

Steve doesn’t argue, because he knows he can take it. A second finger joins the first, and he soon insists on a third through gritted teeth. Bucky curses when he brushes against his prostate, arching his back off the table and nearly kicking Steve in the face.

Bucky gets one of his legs out of those wretched tailored pants by the time Steve is pressing his cockhead into him.

“Ready?” he asks.

Bucky nods, eyes falling shut. He lies back and grabs the sides of the table, gripping them until his knuckles turn white.

The thrusts are shallow at first, teasingly so. As long and thick as Steve’s cock is, it feels like it never ends. “Deeper, I can take it, give it to me,” Bucky says urgently, “Not gonna break me, you fucking—”

Steve’s hand covers his mouth a moment before he pushes all the way into him, and Bucky nearly bites into it to hold back a scream. He’s too full, too hot, breathless and drooling onto Steve’s palm.

“I’m going to move now,” Steve says tightly, leaning down. There’s concern etched into his face though his pupils are blown with desire. “Baby. Tell me I can.”

Bucky grinds his hips upwards, squeezing, and Steve closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, taking his hand off Bucky’s mouth and standing upright. “Yeah, okay. You wanted this.”

If it sounds like a warning, it is.

Steve draws his cock nearly all the way out, and slams back into him.

The table is the perfect height for Steve to stand with Bucky’s ankles on his shoulders, leaving him with nowhere to go and nothing to do but to lie there, in the hay and sunshine, hoping to God that the table doesn’t snap under their weight though it creaks as loudly as Bucky moans. Each hot, slick slide rocks his body, and his erection leaves wet smears across his stomach with every thrust.

He’s distantly aware of each breathy gasp that Steve pushes out of him, of every  _ “fuck” _ and  _ “Christ”  _ and  _ “feels so fucking good” _ they whisper to each other, and every  _ I missed you _ that remains unsaid. Steve’s hands roam up and down the backs of Bucky’s thighs, keeping him spread open, sometimes reaching down and giving him a firm slap on the ass.

“Punk,” Bucky grunts at him, reaching up and pinching one of Steve’s nipples.

“Jerk,” Steve grins back, speeding up his movements in retaliation.

They watch each other through heavy-lidded eyes, both their bodies thoroughly on display. Bucky knows he's squirming and flushed and that it drives Steve fucking wild, but watching Steve take him like this is enough to destroy him, admiring all that stacked muscle and unyielding strength. Beads of sweat form on Steve’s forehead and drip down his face, his neck, his chest, and Bucky wants to lick them off him. He wants to cover his face with his arm or reach for his cock, but he knows Steve will bat his hands away. Steve is greedy like that, which is a decent trade-off for getting the pounding of his life.

“Kiss me,” Bucky demands impatiently, getting back up on his elbows.

To lean down without losing his balance, Steve props his knee up on the table, changing the angle and depth of his thrusts and making Bucky cry out anew. Steve sucks on his tongue and bites at his bottom lip, breathing hotly into his mouth while Bucky slides his cock against Steve’s abs.

“That’s it, beautiful,” Steve murmurs against his cheek, anchoring himself with his hands on either side of Bucky’s head. “Come for me, just like this.”

Bucky locks his legs around Steve’s waist and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. Heat coils in the pit of his stomach, but it’s not enough. Crying out in frustration, he grips handfuls of Steve's hair, clutches at his ridiculous biceps. “Can’t, I need more—”

“You can.”

“No—”

“You  _ will,” _ Steve insists, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. His voice drops to a growl to match the brutal force of his movements. “And I’m going to fuck you through it and send you back to work, wet and loose and still aching for me. You’ll have to tell your stupid company I’ve turned your offer down again with an ass full of my come, leaking out of you for the rest of the day—”

Pinned under the weight of Steve’s gaze, the words light a fire in him. Be it out of spite or obedience, Bucky tenses up and spills between their stomachs, with Steve’s name on his lips.

“Yeah, I got you, Buck, I got you,” Steve says soothingly, still rocking into him with long strokes, true to his word. Bucky isn’t proud of the gasps and whimpers that come out of him, writhing from overstimulation as Steve follows him over the edge with a quiet groan.

They’re sweaty, sticky, blissfully fucked out with no intentions of moving. It’s a few peaceful minutes before either of them speaks again.

“You’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on you, you know that?” Bucky mumbles hoarsely, wincing as Steve pulls out.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Steve chuckles. “Anyway, guess who I learned it all from?”

“Who? You two-timin’ me, Stevie?” Bucky teases, wrapping an arm around Steve’s back.

He snorts. “Buck, the first time we met, you told me I had a jaw strong enough to sit on.”

“You do. Proved that the second time we met, if you recall.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling Bucky’s other arm closer to him to check the time on his watch. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Some stretching, complaining, and grunting later, they’re both on their feet, wiping themselves off with Steve’s old shirt and trying to pick hay and twigs from Bucky’s clothes.

“So,” Bucky begins hesitantly, feigning nonchalance. “It’s still a ‘no’, huh?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Did you expect otherwise?”

Bucky shrugs. “We really do have an amazing offer on the table, way better than the last one. This is probably the best deal we’ve ever tried to make.” He takes Steve’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “With this kind of money, you could get a nice place in the city.” The silent  _ near me _ hangs in the air between them. “You could do anything you wanted.”  _ With me. _ “Or I could get you a job. It might be entry-level at first, but—.”

Steve smiles, bringing Bucky’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Yeah? What’ll I be doing, bringing you coffee? Scheduling your appointments? Sucking you off under your desk?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky runs his thumb across the seam of Steve’s lips, rubbed bright red and chapped from Bucky’s stubble. “I have a private restroom for that. Come on, Rogers, what can I do to change your mind?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Steve says good-naturedly, as he’s said over a dozen times in the past year; the same conversation they’ve been having since the company Bucky works for decided they want to buy out the land for a new factory and warehouses. As a very hands-on CPO, Bucky was supposed to charm the landowner and close the deal. Instead, he returned to Manhattan with come in his hair and reeking of manure, empty-handed.

Didn’t stop him from trying again, though. And again, and again, and again.

“Yeah,” Bucky says softly, too worn out to argue.

He grabs his briefcase and jacket, and they walk back out to his car in a stiff silence. Before Bucky gets in, Steve pulls him close again, their foreheads touching. “You certain you can’t stay?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “For what, dinner?”

“Dinner… Breakfast… Lunch… Dinner again… Dessert, for sure. My mom makes a mean apple pie,” Steve says, peppering wet kisses down Bucky’s neck. “Every dinner between now and ‘till you get sick of my ugly mug, I guess.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “And be your little housewife? This place doesn’t even have reliable WiFi.” He pouts a little and Steve kisses it off his face. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“Dunno,” Steve murmurs, squeezing him tight before letting go. “I guess you’ll have to keep coming back ‘till one of us finally gives in.”

Bucky swallows. “Guess so.”

He gets in his car and slips his sunglasses back on. “I’ll be back in a month. Just think about it.”

Steve salutes and watches him drive off.

_ He’ll agree next time, _ they both tell themselves, as they've always done.  _ He has to.  _

  
  



End file.
